Only One
by Red River
Summary: What is Takuya to you, Kouji? It's a question he's gotten tired of answering. Especially because it has no easy answer. One-shot, Kouji's perspective. Kouji x Takuya, light.


A/N: A play on words, and the results of a thought exercise about how exactly to describe the relationship between Kouji and Takuya. Intended as a pairing piece, but in my attempts to keep Kouji and Takuya clear of the blushing, sappy and tearful clichés I have again avoided saying anything definite, so it could center on strong friendship instead. Take it as you will.

Warnings: None.

Pairing: Kouji/Takuya, light.

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_What is Takuya to you, Kouji?_

It is a question he's long grown tired of answering. In the five years since their association began, countless voices have asked him the same thing. Two sets of parents, and two inquisitive siblings, and three friends who never could keep a rein on their desire to pry. The students who share their classroom, and the teachers who judge their disparaging marks, and the soccer squad that surrounds the boy in question, each expression mindless and open in its curiosity.

_You two best friends, or what?_

Not exactly. A best friend is something Kouji doesn't have—doesn't need. Best friends pull pranks together, and get into trouble together, and trade sheepish smiles when all the trouble has led to detention. Kouji does none of these things. When Takuya gets into trouble, he drags Kouichi with him, or Tomoki perhaps, or even Junpei and Izumi, if he can catch them. Kouichi, Tomoki, Junpei and Izumi are Takuya's best friends. Kouji is the one shaking his head at them from the doorway of the classroom, and the one leaning against the wall until detention releases them, ready with a sharp look for whoever needs one.

_Just really good friends, then?_

It's not that, either. Good friends spend the afternoon together in a video arcade, and run side by side through an amusement park, and scream their lungs out in unison on the looping roller coasters. Takuya has friends like this, but Kouji isn't one of them. They're his classmates, and his teammates, and his playmates from childhood—people who can accept that wide, excited smile and send it right back, no dimmer for the reflection.

Sometimes Kouji goes to these places with Takuya, but he doesn't go the same way. He doesn't trade rounds in the gaming arcade. He doesn't race from roller coaster to roller coaster until his legs can no longer move. He certainly doesn't scream. Kouji is the one at the back of the group, unimpressed by the brilliant colors and flashing lights, by the sudden drops that knock the bottom out of his stomach. He is the one who scolds Takuya for eating too much ice cream, and refuses him sympathy when he develops a stomachache. He is the one who sits with Takuya until he's ready to ride again, while the others go on ahead.

_Aren't you guys rivals, like you used to be?_ Junpei asks from time to time.

They have their rivalry. But they aren't like they used to be, and they aren't really rivals. Rivals are competition to push you to your best, to give you something to overcome, so that no challenge seems beyond attempt. Rivals lend victory another level of sweetness. Sometimes Takuya finds people to fill that role, too. But Kouji is not among them. Takuya's rivals laugh at his wavering grades or his off-target jump shot and put the fire of determination into his eyes. Kouji is the one who shakes his head at the boy's anger, and then he is the one who helps him, forcing study into that unwilling mind and tossing the ball back until the net never stops swinging.

_Maybe the two of you are like family,_ Izumi suggested once. _You know, like brothers._

No. Kouji has Kouichi, and Takuya has Shinya. And that's different. For his brother, Kouji is protective, and an unwavering ally, and he keeps his voice low when he delivers his reprimands. For his brother, Takuya is a born competitor, and a partner in crime, and the hand ruffling his hair at the end of a squabble, warm with an offer to share instead.

It's not that there aren't similarities—he and Takuya have their alliances, and Kouji will acknowledge that he harbors a strange kind of protectiveness for Takuya, too. But when they argue, Kouji doesn't restrain his voice, and neither does Takuya, and there is nothing gentle about them, not least the occasional fist. And when the fighting ends, Takuya only has to smile, and as long as Kouji does the same, there isn't even a need to apologize.

_Kouji…_ Kouichi tries sometimes. _About Takuya… do you…_

That, he wouldn't know. He doesn't have a comparable experience, for himself or for Takuya. But if Kouichi's asking about Junpei's dumbstruck expression whenever Izumi smiles at him, or the way Izumi's cheeks turn red as she giggles with the other girls, or the stutter they both develop when they stand too close together—well, he knows it's nothing like that.

_So what is he, Kouji? What is he to you?_

It's a question that at last came to bother Kouji himself, if only because there was no answer that seemed to fit. A question he has considered on and off over the years, picking at it like a loose thread, unsure how to put together the pieces he's been given. A question he thinks he finally has the answer to.

Takuya is not a best friend, or a good friend, or a rival, or a brother, or whatever Izumi is to Junpei. He is more and different than all of these. Takuya is the one Kouji walks to school with in the morning, kicking stones into the road with his restless feet, and the one who slumps across Kouji's desk at lunchtime, begging for the sweet things packed into Kouji's lunch. He is the only reason Kouji hasn't told his stepmother to stop including those sweet things every day.

Takuya is the one who takes Kouji by the arm and drags him into the city on one adventure after another—the only one, because he is the only one who dares to weather the darker boy's glare and even Kouichi does not presume to pull. He is the only reason Kouji attends school soccer games, and the only reason he stays until the end, so he can be there to receive the glowing, victorious smile that accompanies the final whistle. Takuya is the only one whose cooking is awful enough that Kouji has been forced to dip a cookie in milk before eating it—and the only one stubborn enough to get Kouji to eat a blackened cookie, for that matter. The only one with the courage to rest his head against Kouji's shoulder when they watch movies, and so the only one yet to be yelled at for drooling on the younger twin's shirt, when the movies put him to sleep.

Takuya is the only one Kouji can yell at with all his might, and the only one who yells back the same way, and the only one who makes him laugh until it's hard to breathe. The only one who chooses, when he stays overnight, to sleep on the floor beside Kouji's bed instead of the cot on the other side of the room. Or, he used to be. Takuya has gotten tired of the floor, and now he uses the bed as well, the only one to ever sleep pressed against Kouji's side. The only one whose sleeping face has ever made Kouji smile.

_So what does that make him?_

Generally, Kouji keeps the answer to himself. He knows that it sounds a little different than he means it to. Generally, he is still without an answer. But with Kouichi, and a few others, he has shared his opinion.

"He's my only one."

Certainly, the only one to ever make him say that.


End file.
